


the heat and the thrill

by erebones



Series: claurenz kink compendium [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cunnilingus, Desperation, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, M/M, Omorashi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Trans Claude von Riegan, Trans Male Character, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:28:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24012097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erebones/pseuds/erebones
Summary: Lorenz loses his cool.
Relationships: Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan
Series: claurenz kink compendium [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1791736
Comments: 12
Kudos: 78





	the heat and the thrill

**Author's Note:**

> For some dear friends. I love you, cheers to us. *piss toast*
> 
> This is just some nasty pee fic that frankly I've owed some pals for a long time. Since somebody already broke the seal (lol) I figured I'd go ahead and just do it. Don't take it too seriously unless you want to, and in the words of kinky fandom creatives everywhere: don't like don't read <3
> 
> content warnings: piss. also claude is a trans man and uses a packer for part of this fic, and i use terms like dick and cunt to describe his junk.

_We got the heat and the thrill_

_'Cause you're more than any pill_

_Never runnin' out of juice_

_When it's only me and you_

_**Cool** _ **\- Dua Lipa**

“Claude—mmmmm… Claude…”

“Love it when you sound like this,” Claude rumbles, and shoves his mouth back up beneath Lorenz’s jaw. Lorenz feels another sharp twinge in his gut, half arousal, half… something else. He grips Claude’s shoulders and whimpers at the wet drag of teeth along his throat. “Say it again. Say my name.”

“Claude,” Lorenz chokes, hips shifting against Claude’s thigh. He’s hot under his clothes, sweaty and damp, and the slough of Claude’s hands over his shirt is the most delicious agony. “Claude please, wait—”

Like magic, Claude’s hands freeze in place and his mouth pulls away from his neck. He lifts his head, eyes practically glowing in the low light of the alley where they’d stopped to make out, overcome by horniness just a block away from Claude’s apartment. “What is it, baby?” Claude asks, voice still velvety but perfectly, deadly serious. His thumbs stroke the jut of Lorenz’s hips slightly. “Everything okay?”

“F-fine,” Lorenz grits out. The hot stab between his legs belies it and he nearly doubles over, wincing. “Ah, fuck—”

Claude leaps out of the way and comes up hard against his side, fingers in his hair. Grounding. “If you need to be sick you can, it’s all right. Let it out.”

 _Let it out_. Lorenz feels his bladder clench cruelly and he cries out, hand to his mouth, as a few traitorous drops of urine escape into his briefs. _Christ, not like this—_

“It’s not,” he gulps, “that.” He chances a look down, but in the dark it’s impossible to see whether his slip has stained the front of his jeans. They’re cut close to his body, almost a second skin, meant to accentuate his slim hips; but right now they feel like chains cutting into his stomach, putting that much more pressure on his bladder. Just the thought of it sends a hot wave rushing through him and he whimpers, shoving a hand between his legs and squeezing his dick. Despite the need to _go, go, go right now_ , a frisson of arousal pings through him at the contact and he groans miserably.

“Hey,” Claude says softly, and his hands are still in his hair, stroking against his sweaty scalp as gentle as anything. “It’s fine. No one’s around—”

As if fate has overheard him, his assurances are immediately swallowed up by the incoming racket of voices coming down the street. Another group of happy drunks pinging their way from bar to bar like errant ping pong balls. They couldn’t have picked a more terrible time.

“Claude,” Lorenz whimpers, “I can’t, I can’t hold it—”

“Shhh. Easy.” Though Lorenz hisses instinctively at being touched, Claude gently helps him straighten up, putting his back to the damp brick wall behind him. Another spurt leaks out and Lorenz chokes against Claude’s lips at the heat, the sweet, delicious agony of forcing it back, holding tight. He grips Claude’s hips for dear life and watches him, his small smile, the tender gleam within his eyes as he presses Lorenz to the wall. “It’s okay, sweetheart. They won’t look twice at this.”

And he rocks up on tiptoe, hip pressing gingerly into Lorenz’s belly. Lorenz buries his face into his neck and lets go.

It feels so good. Good in a way that it probably _shouldn’t_. His hips jerk against Claude’s thigh as his bladder empties itself against his leg in a hot stream, almost inaudible except for the faint trickle against cobblestone where it runs out between their shoes. Lorenz shakes, and sweats, and pisses himself all down Claude’s leg, tears in his eyes even as Claude rubs his back and whispers, _you’re lovely, good boy, let yourself go, it’s all right_ over and over and over again until Lorenz almost believes it.

It takes a while—he’s had a lot to drink, and the stifling shame of it makes it seem to last longer. By the time he’s finished, the group has passed their little alcove and Lorenz is trembling, aching and raw and _finally_ empty. He sniffles a little bit into Claude’s collar and tries to pretend he’s not rock-hard in his wet jeans.

“All better?” Claude murmurs, rubbing his back. Lorenz nods miserably. “Good boy. That wasn’t so hard, huh? Well, maybe a little.” He palms Lorenz’s prick in his jeans and Lorenz jerks back—but there’s nowhere to go. “Hey, easy,” Claude says, hands in the air. “You’re okay, baby.”

It’s cold out, despite the alcohol in their blood. Even though Lorenz is shivering in his wet clothes, he’s grateful for the chill helping to mask the smell. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I—I should have gone at the bar, I—”

“Shh, hey, it’s not a big deal.” Claude chuffs softly, laughing at himself. “It was kinda hot. Okay, it was _really_ hot, actually.”

Lorenz drops his eyes to Claude’s crotch on instinct, as though he’d be able to tell. He can make out the shape of Claude’s packer, but not much else. Just the dark stain of Lorenz’s piss turning his slate grey pants black down the front of his leg.

“R-really?” he ventures.

“Yeah, really.” Claude chances a step closer, and when he lifts his chin up, Lorenz accepts the wet, dirty kiss Claude plies him with, tongues together and hands cupped easily around his hips. This time when Claude eases close, Lorenz lets himself rub against his hip, groaning at the contact. “That’s it. Feels good, yeah?” Claude fumbles his zip open and pulls Lorenz’s wet cock out, giving it a few pumps. “Hey love, think you could do me a favor?”

“Yes—what—anything,” Lorenz gasps. Shame has boiled over into white-hot arousal, and it takes all his willpower to focus on Claude’s words and not his hand around his cock. “Anything you want.”

Claude hums and rubs his packer up against Lorenz’s thigh. “I had a lot of water just before we left, I’m feeling kind of… full.”

Lorenz goes rigid. For half a second he fears Claude is mocking him, but the look on his face, bathed ochre in the chemical glow of light pollution is only playful, a little bit turned on. “Let me,” he begins, too quickly, like stumbled off the curb slightly before righting himself. “I mean… do you…”

“Whatever you want,” Claude soothes. He opens his jeans, peels his boxer briefs down enough to fish his packer out and stow it in his jacket pocket, a bewildering and slightly hilarious visual gag that has Lorenz choking back a startled giggle. “And if you’d rather not—”

Lorenz kisses him to shut him up, and a blaze of want and sheer _relief_ wipes through him like static electricity at the smile against his lips. He kisses him and kisses him until Claude is moaning softly and Lorenz has snuck a hand between them to rub at Claude’s dick with his fingers. And then, giddy and elastic, feeling like he’s barreling toward a finish line he didn’t even know was there, Lorenz goes to his knees on the wet cobblestones and puts his mouth between Claude’s legs.

His back is to the wall, still, and he shuffles back obediently under the weight of Claude’s hand until his shoulderblades are to the brick. He’s still mouthing clumsily at Claude’s cunt when he tastes the first salty tang of urine. Just a tiny bit, but he moans and fists his own cock, and then he feels a hand in his hair and Claude starts to piss in earnest.

Lorenz opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue, trying to lap up as much as he can. It’s hot and tangy and salty in his mouth and running down his chin, a little bit sour-sweet from the beers Claude has been drinking all night. Lorenz swallows and swallows, coughing a little when his mouth overflows and it gushes down his front instead. And then the rush slows to a trickle and abruptly stops, and Lorenz tightens his hand around his prick and comes with a shout muffled by the weight of Claude’s dick on his tongue.

He keeps sucking until Claude cums, too. Then, out of breath, he slumps back against the wall and waits for his body to right itself again.

“All right?” Claude asks at some point. He’s done up his pants again and has dropped into a crouch, practically straddling Lorenz’s lap to stroke his wet face. He kisses Lorenz’s cheek. “You’re such a good boy,” he whispers, and Lorenz shivers.

“I’m not sure whether to be dreadfully embarrassed or… or pleased with myself,” Lorenz says at last. His words meander like a drunk’s feet, but his mind is clear, and offers its ringing endorsement as Claude tucks his softened prick away and does up his jeans again. “I’ve never done anything like that.”

“You’re a natural,” Claude says, helping him to his feet.

“Wh—have _you_?”

“Have I what?” Claude blinks innocently. “Pissed in someone’s mouth? No, that was a first for me. Awfully fun, though.” He tucks his arm around Lorenz’s waist, grinning unrepentantly. “How are you feeling, love?”

Lorenz takes stock. Wet jeans, wet shirt, damp chin. One shoe squishes unpleasantly with every step. Everywhere that isn’t drenched is at least damp with sweat, and he’s beginning to shiver in the cool spring air, even with Claude at his side helping him put one foot in front of the other. “Wet,” he says at last. “And as enjoyable as that was, I would really like a shower.” He hesitates. “And perhaps a drink of water.”

Claude laughs and nuzzles a kiss to his shoulder, navigating them around the corner and up the steps to his front door. “I think that can be arranged.”

**Author's Note:**

> sorry to dua lipa for using ur song


End file.
